A Dark Mark Left
by BritLuvr
Summary: Nicole is being driven to the brink of insanity by the constant flow of the message: Darkness rises when silence dies. What does it mean? Who is behind it? Follow Nicole on her journey into the heart of the mysterious Dark Brotherhood, the twenty-first century's most elite assassin's guild, and find what it means to have a dark mark left on your soul. Modernized DB; rating S2C.
1. Destinations and Truths

**A Dark Mark Left**

**Chapter One: Destinations and Truths**

It hadn't been easy to find the manor home of the secretive assassin cult known as the Dark Brotherhood, but after countless hours of searching, digging, speculating, theorizing, retracing, bartering, intimidating, and even a few beating, Nicole Amelia Evans was finally standing before the intricate wrought-iron gates, and all for the sake of a single mysterious message.

_Darkness rises when silence dies._

Of course, it would be utter insanity to waste so much of her life, go so far out of her way, for some stupid gibberish scribble-scrabble crazy talk. She had tried to ignore it at first; a mis-sent e-mail, or maybe a spammer or hacker. Just a message sent to her private inbox from an anonymous sender, with that damnable phrase in the subject line. Click-delete-done. And when a new one was sent, it got the same treatment as its predecessor. The third was, cautiously, opened for examination: Line upon unbroken line of text, a long block of solid straight lines, all bearing the same message. _Darkness rises when silence dies_. Nicole, deeply disturbed, marked it as junk. At last count, her junk folder had well over a thousand copies of the terrible message.

The threat, whatever it was, had seemed over then. What an easy lie to shatter. A week after moving the messages to her junk mail, her cellphone pinged: From an unknown sender, a private, untraceable number, the words came again. And again. And again. Unknown users, private and blocked but always coming back around, started instant messaging it to her, day and night, and before long Nikki was driven by a single goal, to **stop the messages**.

And that goal, her sole mission for the past few months, had brought her here, to Dawnstar. A lonely manor, in a lonely city: Huge, sprawling, but grey, cold, literally and metaphorically. _This _is where that damn life-consuming message originated from, she was sure of it. It was the last thing the squeal had said before dying: "Brothers can be found at Dawnstar, look for the iron hand without."

It had been a long journey, and now, finally at her destination, the young sojourner came to the black realization that she was truly at a loss for the first time ever. Five words had been enough to push her to this point, well past her limits and far beyond her endurance, but not even one measly thought would come to her and tell her how to proceed. Defeated, Nikki grasped the cold metal bars before her and rested her head on her fist, sighing. All that work for nothing. All those hours, just to be foiled at the front gate.

The gate couldn't be scaled, or jumped, tunneled under or broken into, couldn't be slipped past, broken, or otherwise deceived. It was impregnable, a fitting wall for the fortress beyond; nothing less than the best for the world's foremost assassin's cult. Extravagance, luxury, secrets death: Everything behind these freezing metal barriers was the Dark Brotherhood's and deserved dark protections. The black iron hand standing starkly in its circle at the topmost center of the gate, split with perfect symmetry down the middle finger, mocked Nicole for her futility. Hot tears froze on her pinking cheeks as she realized it would never end, not her mission, not the relentless message. Even now her phone buzzed in her front right pocket; she was doomed to be driven mad by it until the day she died.

She released her death grip on the gate post and turned away, ready to retrace her steps homeward, when a sharp pain exploded on the back of her head. Blackness bloomed behind hazel eyes as Nicole Amelia Evans, Nikki or Nick to family and friends, hacker extraordinaire, went down for the count, dealt a dirty blow from behind.

~DB~

The world next came into being blearily. It was soft and fuzzy, and it took Nikki several unsuccessful attempts to blink things back into focus.

"Hey, you! Finally awake," rumbled a deep voice from high above her head. Nikki lifted her face to find black eyes boring down on her; a tall man, strong and toned, extruding an aura of danger and power, stood before her. He was smartly dressed in a black suit and white button-up shirt, with shiny black paten leather shoes. A light brown beard bobbed above the shirt's crisp white collar, cut to resemble something of a long goatee, and deep brown eyes glinted ominously, intelligently, above that. His bald scalp gleamed lazily in the low light, dark skin shining in the dull way of a polished rock.

"Wha—"

"No time for questions, new blood. The boss is going to want to have a word with you." With that, two similarly dressed men stepped from the shadows to either side of Nikki and grabbed her upper arms, unceremoniously dragging her with them as they began their trek. Her mind, still sluggish from the underhanded blow, reeled from the input of sensory data as Nikki tried to memorize the route she was forced down, hoping for the chance to make a break for it. In the end, even the relatively straightforward route—taken from her current angle, which was to say, at hip-level—turned out to be too complicated for her overtaxed mind. She gave up on her attempt at memorization and instead tried focusing on what was immediately in front of her, like her hands (unbounded), the floor (polished marble), the goons holding her (stony-faced young men of no discernible ethnicity), and the backside of their leader apparent (which was fine indeed).

A door hissed open before the small party, pulling Nikki from her inappropriately timed inspection of her captor's hot ass. He seemed to sense just where he thoughts had been, smirking at her as he stood to one side. Suit One and Suit Two obediently followed the unspoken order, dragging the tiny brunette gracelessly into steamy room that smelled almost overpoweringly of chlorine.

Nikki strained against her own sense, struggling to use her dulled brain to decipher the clues latent within the room. There was the quiet lapping of water, sounding off from somewhere amid the humidity's heart; so, there was a pool of some sort nearby. An overfilling pool, to guess from the warm wetness seeping into her shoes and jeans as they scraped across the tiled floor. Despite the warm press of the hot floating mist on her skin, she could tell the room was spacious; even the quiet splashing of the water echoed loudly in the enclosed space. Still the steam, source of the humidity in the room, lay too thick on the air to see past. She was collecting more of the groundwater in her clothes—perhaps because there was more of it to be collected now. It lay in large puddles on the black tile floor, gleaming in a way that could not be replicated by floor wax.

The clones dragging her came to an abrupt, simultaneous halt. The steam swirled angrily around Nikki and her abductors, as if in protest of captive state, then dispersed evenly around them, clearing enough room to allow Nikki a clear view for several feet before her. She was held by the edge of gigantic pool, shaped in the Brotherhood's insignia—a large opened hand. For a heart-stopping moment, the teenaged hacker was sure the Suit Bros. would simply drown her in the luxuriant pool. That would be her end, drowned in a giant hand-pool in a secluded manor at the far edge of a lonesome city. And really, who needed a pool here to begin with? It was never above what in Nikki's translated to "fucking freeing" anywhere _near_ Dawnstar….

Something glided nearby at the bottom of the pool, making a path straight for where she was held kneeling mere feet before the water's lip. So she was to be fed to some aquatic monstrosity, not drowned. Oh joy. The girl shrank back in very real terror, leaning away from the pool despite the hard grip on her arms. These two schmucks could just toss her in without missing a beat. She was a goner….

The pale shape from the pool's floor jumped smoothly up, pulling itself back onto dry—well, drier—land. Water streamed off of auburn hair, past eerie amber eyes, and down pale skin. It dripped off the slight pudge in the middle and landed beside bare feet. Despite the striking features of the man before her—and these he had a bounty of, from sunless skin to rare, natural hair color—Nicole's hapless gaze snared itself on the unfortunately captivating attire the man wore: A deep navy speedo stood out in sharp contrast to the man's gothic-white skin, too tight to leave much to the imagination…not that Nikki could have imagined anything better. She didn't want to gawk, but gawk she did, in surprise of the man's audacity among…other…things of interest.

It wasn't until he was almost upon the small group that she managed to force her eyes to higher, safer grounds. Like his devilishly smirking face or playfully glinting eyes. Shit, he saw! And if his voice was anything to judge off of, he was interested to say the least:

"What is it you've brought me now, Nazir?"

The sound of his voice sent shivers up her spine and broke her arms out in goosebumps. It was oddly silibant, confident, self-assured…dark, powerful, possessive. People killed when voices like that told them to, a fact that made undeniable sense given the context of the situation.

"This little lady was just _dying_ to meet you," rumbled the attractive black man from somewhere not far behind her. "Or so it would seem."

"Oh?"

"She made it all the way to the gates before we caught up with her. Slipped past every defense along the way." There again were those amber eyes, peering into her soul as his interest piqued.

"You don't say?" he purred, gaze never straying from hers. She felt like a mouse, hypnotized by a charming snake's entrancing eyes. There was no looking away, no refusal, nothing but the quickening pace of her heartbeats and the heightening danger surrounding her.

"And all that, of course, is on top of finding our location without tripping any alarms."

"Hmmm…." The red-head's tone was musing, his face thoughtful. He cupped his elbow with hand and tapped his index finger against his lips with the other, tawny eyes travelling over her folded body. He studied her for a moment before asking, "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"'M just trying to stop the messages," she replied, dazed and still utterly beguiled. With all the trouble of the past few months, she had been so sure that she had managed to trip every alarm in the Brotherhood…and yet…somehow, it appeared, she had not until today. Then why all that trouble? All that death? What had it been if not her carelessness?

With exaggerated slowness, the still-dripping man bent at the waist and leaned over until his face was level with hers. This close, more of his facial features came into clear focus; high cheekbones, sunken, almost sleepless, eyes, well-kept brows and a sharp nose. Breathing lightly onto her skin, as a lover might before a slow, passionate kiss, his eyes swept over her own face before resting on hers, predatory amber clashing with clouded hazel.

"What message?" he half-whspered, voice low as if such a convention afforded the two any privacy.

"Darkness rises when silence dies," she whispered back, quoting the cursed phrase from memory. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, as if in chipper agreement; the man snapped up abruptly, like she had reached out and slapped him. His eyes flicked up behind her, presumably to look at his fellow captor, before fidning her again at a narrower, more hostile angle. Nicole watched all this unfold with her heart hammering in her throat, unsure of how to take her sensual host's sudden burst of violence.

"Did you search her before bringing her to me?" The man's tone was clipped, urgent.

"No."

"Up!"

Suit One and Suit Two hauled the terrified self-proclaimed rebel to her feet, holding her still and steady as she was simultaneously patted down from the front and the back by her two most vocal kidnappers.

"Clear," announced the sure, gravelly voice from behind her just as a wet hand slapped the right side of her pelvis.

"What's this?" cooed the wearer of speedos, fingering the bulge through the thin denim of her jeans. Deftly, he worked the smartphone out of its nice, dry nest and held it cupped in one hand. He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, turning the offending electronic over as he scanned it for visible signs of danger. Apparently content with his search, he pressed a button, staring at the LED display as it lit up. "Tsk, six unread messages? For shame."

He tried, unsuccessfully, to check them.

"Password," he demanded distractedly, not looking at her. When she didn't answer, he turned his sharp glare on her and repeated his demand.

"O-oh!" Nikki rattled off a short numeric code, which was subsequently entered into the phone, giving access to her entire private life to an angry assassin. He read the text messages first, eyes darting across the screen over the words, unable to believe what he saw. Next he checked her e-mail, the junk folder, then her IM mobile manager, the unanswered column as well the answered. He looked through her life until satisfied with his findings, then carelessly chucked the phone over his shoulder. The small splash echoed loudly in the tense silence of the room as all eyes fell on her. She stared at the man before her, still somewhat dumbstruck by the recent turn of events.

"So," he said softly, eyes steadily planted on her face, sizing her up and gauging her reaction, "'darkness rises when silence dies'?"

"I was just trying to stop the messages," she explained hoarsely, shrinking away in renewed terror.

"You know about the Brotherhood—"

"I thought you were stalking me—"

"—and you sought us out on your own initiative—"

"—I couldn't get the messages to stop—"

"—you slipped past all our defenses—"

"—I thought for sure you were going to catch me—"

"—and now here you are, all alone and at our mercy—"

"—please don't kill me!" Nikki begged, finally stopping the mad tirade with her tears. She was cowering as far away from the tawny-eyed killer as his loyal lapdogs would physically allow her, more or less unknowingly huddled against the black man's muscular form, pleading for mercy from the very core of her soul. Tears slid down her slick face, nearly blinding her, as the man stepped forward. With surprising gentleness he reached out and caressed her face, wiping the fresh tears away with one well-manicured thumb.

"Kill you?" he purred softly, intimately, stepping closer. "Why would we kill you? Why would _I_? Our little family has waited so long for Mother to choose someone…why kill her chosen?" His hand moved sensually down her cheek, fingers whispering against her soft skin as they slid down and curled under to cup her chin. "Now, admittedly, _I_ had hoped to gain the Lady's favor—" his grip tightened brutally "—but clearly that's not to be." He removed his hand, but not before lovingly caressing her cheek one last time with the backs of his fingers. Careless as a lion cleaning his claws of blood, his tongue laved over the wetted appendages, savoring the sweet salty tang of her tears. He closed his eyes, lost for a moment to the blissful taste of bitter fear, a single noted vibrating at the back of his throat. "Delicious," he declared, amber orbs reopening n the world and zeroing in on her with the bloodthirsty intensity of a hungry wolf.

The other man cleared his throat loudly, drawing his companion's attention away from Nicole. "What shall we do with her?" he asked.

"Take her away," came the simple reply, accompanied by a flippant wave of the hand. "Prepare a room for her, put her in it, and lock the door on your way out." The strange pale psychopath then turned smartly on his heel and strode away. He dove into the pool with hardly a splash, but not before making sure to take long enough in his preparatory stoop for Nicole to notice his backside.

And so this stranger's will was done, and Nicole—now damp from the humid steam and left without her beloved phone—was left alone to her own thoughts, many of which were too bizarre to merit contemplation. She reflected on the day's insane events, the assassins who lived in Dawnstar, her long journey and its somewhat anticlimactic "twist" ending, her unbelievable luck in apparently not having tripped any alarms sooner, but inevitably these reflections bored and upset her. Flopping down on her bed, she thought instead of her sexy greeter, the tall dark man, and compared him to the swimmer, his "boss".

She had to stifle her laughter when she realized the latter was almost half a head shorter than her, a comical height difference when placed alongside his companion.

_-Notes-_

_Hello everyone! It's been a while since I last logged on, huh? ;) So...couple of things:  
__1- I am newly addicted to Skyrim!  
__2- My good friend ScarletBoudica convinced me to write and publish this story.  
__3- I am unable to continue BtM until my co-author keeps up her end of the bargain and starts writing. You have my apologies for that one.  
4- Nicole (Nikki...Nick) is an original character __ScarletBoudica _and I have been working on since I started playing Skyrim. In our "original" timeline, she becomes the Listener and hilarity ensues; in this "alternate" timeline, she becomes the Listener and drama ensues. Go figure. :)  
As always, please feel free to PM me with any comments, questions, and/or concerns, or leave it here in a review and I'll get back to you the next time I log on!  
Ciao for now~!  
XOXO,  
BritLuvr


	2. Listening

**A Dark Mark Left**

**Chapter Two: Listening**

Sometime in the short while Nikki had been locked up alone with her thoughts, she had managed to doze off. She wasn't aware of falling asleep, or even of ever having been asleep, but she knew she must have been: One moment she's laying wide awake on her bed, contemplating the relative attractiveness of her abductors and their differing ways of drawing her attention to them, and the next moment she is jolted into a wakefulness she had somehow lost by a knocking at her door. The weak and watery sunlight filtering through her room's window lay noticeably higher on the walls; shadows filled obscure corners and painted whole patches of empty space the gloomy shade of late twilight. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, reflexively reaching up to feel the shape of her hair. Damn her decision to cut it so short: It stood up at the unnatural angles of an anime fighter in full-fledged combat. In the background she heard the knocking again.

"The door's locked, you know; I can't exactly open it for you," she called out, disgruntled by the interruption of what was apparently a very nice nap.

The door swung in, permitting entrance to probably the strangest person Nikki had seen since arriving at Dawnstar. She was no more than a child, too young for Nikki to even consider a pre-pubescent, tiny and pale and sweet. She wore her soft auburn hair in a braid down her back, making it difficult to judge its exact length. Her head rounded the corner, checking cautiously for something, before entering the room.

"I know," the little girl said, closing the door behind her, "but Daddy told me I should always knock before entering.

She. Was. Adorable! She entered the room proper in a swirl of her very formal dress; the crimson fabric was thick and rich, no doubt comfortably warm in the chilly manor, with full-length sleeves that came to a soft point on the backs of her hands. The bodice dropped away in a swirling skirt that stopped just shy of the marble floor. It seemed almost too formal for a girl of her age, but was as fitting on her as it would have been on a young princess of old.

"I'm Babette," she chirped gaily, staring at the disheveled Nikki with big, gleaming eyes from her position beside the bed. There was an aura of barely contained excitement twitching restlessly over her, even as she clasped her hands behind her back and waited in firmly planted feet.

"I'm Nikki," the hacker replied dutifully, knowing already that she was smitten. She had such a soft spot for cute little kids, one of her few reaming maternal instincts. Babette's large eyes were guilelessly drinking her in, curious and excited all at once.

"My Daddy said you were to join the family for supper."

"I'm not hungry though," Nick lied, desperate to remain where she was until she felt better prepared to face down a whole sanctuary full of assassins, growling stomach or otherwise.

"He said you might say that, and to tell you it's not a request if you did." Her father was a wily one, then.

"B-but look at me, Babette," Nikki said, thinking fast and making an appeal to the tiny girl's feminine side, "I'm a wreck! My hair is all nasty and I have nothing to wear!"

The girl's answering smile was almost wicked.

She pulled a small pouch from her belt and opened it to reveal a hair brush, a small cache of bobby pins, a black eyeliner pencil, a sharpener, mascara, some eye shadow, and a tube of lipstick; great, the kid had even brought her own cosmetics.

"Nazir should be bringing a dress by later—there was an argument over your measurements, apparently." Nazir…wasn't that what the amber-eyed swimmer had called tall, dark, and handsome? Nikki felt an embarrassed dread drop into her stomach and set up camp there; for there to have been an argument, more than one person had to have been taking notes. She was self-conscious enough about her small chest without people staring at it. Between her B-cups and broad hips, she felt the misalignment of her curves was some extreme fluke on nature's part which it never intended to correct.

"Well?" the high, impatient voice of her child-companion sounded. Nikki stared at her in utter confusion, wondering if she had somehow missed a part of their conversation. The girl sighed and jabbed the hair brush in Nick's general direction. "Are you going to let me fix your hair or not?"

"Oh, uh, sure?"

The child clambered deftly onton the bed, forced Nicole to turn around by jerking her shoulders in the desired direction, and set about to taming the wild brown mess. Nick could feel her hair giving way under the girl's skilled touch, and before long—Nick was a rotten judge of time, but it didn't _feel_ long—her hair was finished, pulled into a graceful, effortless-looking bun on the nape of her neck, the face-framing cutaways done in two small, neat braids leading into the aforementioned bun. Her bangs, rebellious as ever, sat defiantly on her forehead, daring young Babette to even try moulding them. She left them be, declaring the look was "cute".

"And now," she announced, eyes shining in renewed excitement, "for your makeup!" The girl hauled herself into Nikki's lap and began the meticulous process of fixing her face.

"You weren't this excited about my hair."

"I play with my Daddy's hair all the time. Now, shh! I'm trying to concentrate!" Nikki turned the puzzle of the child's father over in her mind. Who here had hair long enough to be played with by the skillful child? No answer would come. Comfortable silence stretched between the two, filling the time companionably, before Babette finally broke it. "I don't get to see many other girls," she admitted, carefully applying eye shadow to Nikki's left eye.

"Oh?"

"There aren't many around, and especially not that'll play with me." Nicole's heart twinged pitifully as the sad comment struck a chord within her. A poor, lonely child being reared in an environment like this…it must be awful for her. "And I don't have many friends my own age," she continued in a soft, lonesome tone. "_You're _the youngest person I've ever seen here."

"I'll be your friend," Nicole promised stupidly, opening her eyes. The child's face was alight with a fire frequently equated with the joy of Christmas morning and Santa's gifts.

"You mean it?"

"Of course." The sensitive older girl was already fending off her tears. Poor little kid…. Babette pulled her into a hug, arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oooh, now hold still, silly; I'm not done yet!" Another long while of torturous stillness, silence, and blindness passed before the little girl announced that she was done. "You look so pretty! I can't wait to see your dress!" she gushed. The words were followed by a single, sharp rap at the door. With a high, excited giggle, the girl rushed to the door; it swung open, uninvited, and in strode Nazir wearing another swank suit. His eyes lingered for just a little too long on Nikki's face as Babette eagerly snatched the parcel from his arms.

"You can go now," she informed him, pushing him out the door with one hand. He left as silently as he had entered, but not without one more hungry, curious glance at the furiously blushing Nicole on the bed. She had never in her life received so much attention from so many people, especially not from men; was all this really because she was one of two girls here at Dawnstar, the only one eligible for such attentions? Just how desperately horny could an assassin get? Wasn't killing supposed to be like orgasming for this sort?

Before her thoughts could merit an x-rating, they were interrupted by a loud gasp. Babette stood before the slim box, now opened, with both hands pressed against her mouth. Her expression bordered on awestruck as she stared into the package. With ginger, almost religious care, she lifted the dress out, making sure the bottom never dipped down into the vicinity of the marble floor, and laid it onto Nikki's bed. It was beautiful, a fashionable masterpiece of subtle, clingy black material that was light to the touch. It was elegant with its long skirt and fitted bodice, sexy with its bared arms and long slit, risqué with its strap-collar at the sleeve junction and opened chest. With her hair done the way it was and maybe the right pair of heels, Nicole's only rival in figure-hugging black sexiness would be Elvira; the thought made her distinctly uncomfortable. After the way both of the Dawnstar men in her acquaintance had acted earlier, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to wear anything so revealing in front of them.

She was too late to refuse, however, as already Babette was begging her to put it on, bouncing around like an excited kitten. The dress was every bit as light, form-fitting, and revealing as it looked lying less-than-innocently on the bed.

"It's a perfect fit!" the young girl squealed as Nikki turned around in a circle for her.

The heels were another story altogether. Black strappy heels, sexy and perfect for the dress, that were at least two sizes too large for Nicole. The child was upset by this turn of events, pouting at the unfairness of it all as Nikki slipped the shoes back into the parcel.

"How could they do that to you? How can you possibly wear that dress to dinner without any shoes?"

"Oh, it's alright," Nicole sighed as she turned to placate the girl. Honestly, she didn't see what the big deal was, why there had to be a fit thrown over something as stupid as a simple pair of shoes, but she hated to see small children in distress. "I'll just wear my good ole' combat boots. It'll be fine."

"No!" her companion shrieked in abject terror, positively horrified by the notion. "It'll ruin _everything_, your whole look!"

"Then I'll go barefoot," Nick decided, and that was that.

~DB~

Nicole found herself far out of her element in the dining room. Her place was in a rolly chair, a dark room, in front of a few glowing screens, in jeans and t-shirts and comfortable shoes or just cozy socks. This couldn't have been more different: The room was elegant, well-lit, polished. The marble floor—a recurring component in the large manor-headquarters—sparkled in the bright light of the large electric chandelier and its smaller, matching wall-mounted candelabras. The fake candles flickered realistically enough, a touch of old school sophistication in the masterfully tasteful and all-encompassing décor of Dawnstar. The polished mahogany table was already set and filled, with only two empty places to be found. Nicole tried to walk with a straight back and high head, but felt incredibly self-conscious in her snug gown and lack of footwear; luckily for her, the dress was just long enough to hide her bare feet, even if it wasn't loose enough to hide her small breasts.

Without really knowing why, Nikki stopped at the far end of the table, the only place without a chair, and looked over its glossy surface to the head of the table. He was in significantly more clothes this time—a sharp suit, clean and well-pressed, very crisp and expensive-looking—but there was no mistaking the face of the man from the pool. It had been much too close to hers not to recognize. Their eyes locked and Nikki came to the vague realization that they were, in fact, battling, testing to see whose will was stronger. Babette continued walking, oblivious to the silent confrontation, as the man's eyes travelled all down Nikki's body. Well, what he could see of it. When those glowing amber orbs lifted again and locked with hers, she could almost taste the tension in the full room. There were more nameless Suits in here, all of them watching the pantomime with acute interest. Nicole was only dimly aware of the importance of this moment; she could _sense_ that it was a shift, though how or why or to what, she couldn't tell. She just knew she had to stand there, and stare down the man with his threatened and intimidating body language, and not be the one to break the silence. Their battle didn't last nearly as long as it felt.

"Good evening, Daddy," Babette chirped, magically appearing at the man's side. He turned his attention onto the tiny girl with a final, lingering glance at Nicole. Babette kissed his cheek and he smiled sweetly down at her.

"Good evening, Princess," he replied, running one pale hand through her hair. She smiled at him, alight with his attention, and gave him a hug.

"Daddy, why is Nazir in my seat?"

"It's not your seat tonight, Princess. We have an," he hesitated, eyes flicking up towards Nicole before continuing, "_important guest_." He returned his attention to the affectionate young thing standing politely at his side. "Sit next to Nazir tonight."

"Okay, Daddy!"

Nicole, who had been frozen with shock throughout the entire exchange, was just beginning to mentally unthaw. The man…that man…was sweet little Babette's _father_? It felt wrong, somehow, although it did make sense. She was too polite to be the daughter of a normal assassin, and besides, his was the only hair long enough to be played with. It was just…how could that clever, special, lonely little girl be related to…?

Distantly, someone cleared their throat, dragging Nikki back out of her head. The room's tension had been broken, but all eyes were still on her. The unnamed man—the boss, the leader apparent—was smirking at her triumphantly, elbows on the table, fingers interlocked, chin resting on the platform they made. Shit! She blushed, publically embarrassed to have been caught so deep in her thoughts she had managed to miss something vital. She lifted her chin and readjusted her shoulders, gathering together the remaining shreds of her dignity to fortify her for the battle to come.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, tone clipped and persnickety.

"I _said_, won't you please take a seat?" he purred, looking very much like a cat confident in the kill. The only seat left was the one to his right, across from Nazir. Of course.

This was _not_ Nikki's night.

But she was damn sure going to make it!

"Thank you," she replied with a faked cheerfulness and matching smirk of her own, like he had been the one to fall for her ploy and not the other way around. His smile dropped into a tiny scowl, imperceptible but for the slight downward curve of his lips, and he leaned away from the table. He waited for her to take her seat before continuing, not pulling her chair out for her as he should but instead leaving the dubious privilege to one of the Suits. Nikki was silent, unaccustomed to such formal manners but unwilling to look it.

"My brothers," he began, commanding the attention of the entire room. Babette interrupted him almost immediately with a small, ladylike clearing of her throat. "And sister," he amended. Glancing at Nicole, he corrected himself once more. "Sisters. We are tonight honored by the presence of the Listener." Something told Nicole the title sported a capital L: It just sounded _that_ important. There was a general rise of noise, disbelieving murmurs echoing all across the spacious room. The man raised his hand a bit and the noise died down instantly. "The Binding Words have been spoken, and what's more, they came from the Night Mother herself." The room went still, fear and respect freezing everybody present. Awe widened eyes and quickened pulses, and every assassin felt the itch to draw his weapon in honor of the Unholy Matron. This was serious. Nikki, oblivious to the gravity of her host's words and thinking only of the dark rumors she had heard, spoke up.

"Who's the Night Mother?"

The ferocious glare of his amber eyes scared Nicole more than the intense and suspicious eye-narrowing of a roomful of assassins.

"But surely you jest," the pale man purred, voice a bit too loud to help cover up her ignorance. "You know as well as any other, Listener—better, I would think, than most—that it is she who sent you here, our wise Lady." Nick sat in stunned silence, taking all of this in. Like so many others of the age, she had heard the horrible rumors of the Night Mother. She was a decayed corpse, they said, using unholy black magic, foul, evil spells to communicate with the Brotherhood, whom she saw as a continuation of the five children she had sacrificed in the name of some dark pagan god. Was a corpse texting her now? Mangled, rotten fingers flying over a touchscreen in an attempt to commune with her five simple words to set some old god's twisted plans into motion…. The thought was beyond disturbing, worse than one of eating a very formal dinner in a den of indifferent death.

"The return of the Listener and the blessing of her presence here at Dawnstar marks the beginning of a new age for the Dark Brotherhood," the man announced. "With this civil war still ripping through the nation, we will be in more demand than ever. But before we can return to the glorious days of old, we must reunite our torn family. Cheydinhal may have fallen to our old enemies, but we can still take back Falkreath. With the Listener in our midst, they will submit to us…or die." The Suits cheered loudly, heartened by the thought of bloodshed and conquest. Halfway down the table, a single, foolish Suit reached for one of the overladen dishes, ready to relieve it of its burden. A steak knife flew through the air, almost of its own accord, and fell with a heavy thunk. It stuck in the table, quivering and bloodthirsty, pinning the man's arm to the smooth surface by his jacket.

"Thank you, Nazir; I wasn't done yet." Nicole turned slowly back to face the assassins she knew best: Nazir was comfortably leaning back, fingering a butter knife now and flashing her a toothy grin. His companion sensed Nick's discomfort, and a heady aura of smug satisfaction rolled off of him, rudely seeming to whack her in the face. "My Dark Brothers and Sisters, I don't ask you to this undertaking lightly. Loyalties run deep with this family, strong within each one of us, a quality I have long admired. The recapture of Falkreath will be…messy. I must ask anyone too attached to that Sanctuary to do all that is necessary leave now." Nicole turned her kind hazel eyes back down the table, silently praying the others would sense his murderous intent, begging them to remain seated. One man failed to heed her silent warning, near the very end of the table. He stood up and walked calmly away, face grim. He was almost to the door when the shot whizzed past Nick's ear, pegging the standing man dead center on his back, going through his spine. The gore sprayed up as he fell in a crumpled heap to the shiny marble floor, the smell of fresh blood expanding to fill the room with its unpleasant odor.

"Glad we got that out of the way," purred the red-head. Nick turned to stare at him, horrified, as he put the sleek pistol back on safety and tucked it away. "Bon appétit, everyone."

Despite the mouth-watering smell of the food—cooked and seasoned meat, perfectly roasted potatoes, steamed vegetables in unique glazes, sauces and gravies innumerable—Nicole had lost her appetite. The cooling corpse remained where it was, untouched, and the stench of death was just beneath the surface smell of glorious food the whole meal long, tainting everything in sight. No one spoke to her or checked on her the entire time, consumed in their own thoughts and conversations. When the meal finally wound down, Nicole began to count herself lucky. Maybe the Listener wasn't expected to do anything. Maybe she could make it out of this alive.

Or maybe she would be shot in the back before making it out the door.

Despite the cleared plates and empty glasses before them, no one left the dining table. They all seemed to be waiting for something, Nazir and Babette included. Was Nick supposed to say something? They were all staring expectantly at her; she opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and pressed her lips together instead. Blood rose to her cheeks, hot and helpless, as she searched within herself for a way to settle their expectations. She cleared her throat and reached for her half-filled glass of water, the only sustenance she had taken that night. Midway through her reach she turned her head, desperate to avoid eye contact, and encountered neatly manicured nails drumming on the glossy surface of the table. Her eyes snapped up, ignoring the smug expression in favor of pleading with the knowing amber eyes to please, oh please, save her ass with a fast way out of this unforeseen mess.

He gave her one, never once looking away, promising to extract some form of payment for the favor later.

"Dismissed," he said, a command rather than an announcement; over the noisy scrape of chairs on marble, he added, "Except for you, Nazir, and you, of course, Listener."

~DB~

If possible, the humidity was even more oppressive now than before. Perhaps it had something to do with the material her dress was made of. One way or another, Nicole was glad to be barefoot in the room; it felt, at least in some small part, like being shoeless warded off the worst of the heat, and besides, the puddles of water were pleasant to the touch. She had always loved being near water.

Nazir was trying to calm his boss down as the latter paced agitatedly by the pool's edge. It was almost comical, but Nick found she couldn't even muster the courage to giggle at the scene. Every time she felt the urge to laugh building, the stone-dead Suit in the doorway to come to mind, a grim reminder of the severity of her situation. These people could kill her without so much as a second thought or guilty twinge.

Or could they?

"Would you ever kill the Listener?" she asked, interrupting…whatever was going on. _Somehow_, the boss-man and Nazir had wound up all but on top of each other, less than a foot away from the lapping water. The former had one hand inside of his jacket, the other bracing himself against the latter, who for his part gripped both of his accomplice's wrists.

"What?"

"Would you ever kill the Listener?"

"Of course not," the red-head snapped, withdrawing his hand and pulling away from Nazir with a scowl. "That would be _blasphemous_."

"How so?" Oh, sure, the looming danger of death might be flying low, passing by just above her head, but Nicole found her curiosity helped to stave off her fear, her hunger, and apparently bouts of inexplicable violence among her…peers.

"It would be disrespectful to Mother. She chose _you_ to receive her summons, regardless of what we may have found preferable, and we—as good, loyal children—shall respect her decisions and honor her wishes."

"So…the Night Mother…is the leader of the Brotherhood?"

"Yes." He was growling now, getting impatient with her and her inquisitive nature.

"Huh. I thought _you_ were the leader."

Change came almost instantaneously over the amber-eyed assassin at this: He narrowed his eyes to slits and grinned cattily at her. He stalked toward her, a reserved sort of energy rolling in his every step, filling his very being, stealthy, restrained, raw power, giving him a predatory edge. In fact, he looked very much like a cat, confident in the kill, prowling towards its helpless prey, eager to pounce and be done with it yet savoring the hunt. It made Nikki distinctly uncomfortable to see all of this. Nazir had magically removed himself from the immediate vicinity of their confrontation and stood just off to one side, watching intently as his fellow approached Nick. She started to back up, give ground, before thinking better of it and standing her ground. He got uncomfortably close to her, inches away, before stopping. Catty smirk still in place, he reached out and stroked her cheek before taking a firm grasp of her chin.

"What a sweet little thing you are," he purred. Nick's mind jumped involuntarily to their first meeting; she almost preferred him wet, oddly enough. It made the danger of death seem further away, harder to take seriously, when he was soaked and dripping and barely dressed, a boon of naivety she desperately wished she could have back. "I keep forgetting how very little you actually know! I _am_ the leader, my pet; the leader of the Dawnstar Sanctuary, and nothing more. For now, at least." He released her face and strode away, pacing back towards the pool, hands clasped behind in his back. "The Night Mother, on the other hand, leads the whole Brotherhood. She is our Unholy Matron, and we must live to serve her." nThe idea of swearing fealty to a corpse was nauseating, to say the least. "As Listener, _you_ must serve our Lady above all else, before all others. Your soul is hers to command." Oh, joy. Nick could feel the vomit rising now. "It is quite an honor to be named Listener. There is no higher rank within the Brotherhood. You will serve the Night Mother and Dread Father directly."

"The Dread Father?"

He flipped his hand in a rolling gesture of indifference, signaling that is was common knowledge and unimportant at the moment. "Sithis, Lord of the Void. He speaks only to the Night Mother, who speaks only to you. You are to deliver her words—his commands—to us." It sounded like a defunct beuarcracy to Nikki; like most hackers, she believed in a state of anarchy, each person ruling the others in harmony. A utopia with no real hopes of existing, a fantasy she clung to fiercely—a world in which she could hope for both control over her own life and anonymity in the world at large.

Not that it mattered.

"And…that's all?" she asked. He stopped dead in his tracks; his fingers twitched, then went still. Nazir was peering at him curiously, taking advantage of his point of view. Nick certainly felt her own disadvantage, being unable to see his face, but with a clear and full view of Nazir's.

"What do you mean, Listener?" The man's voice fairly dripped with honey, the sound of which twisted her stomach in horrible ways.

"I-I…just…don't like the thought of—"

"Death?" His voice was very soft now, tone lost in the steam. Nick didn't answer, too afraid of his unpredictable responses to risk triggering another one. Nazir's eyes widened, disturbed and somewhat fearful, as the other man's shoulders started shaking. The shakes got worse and his head bowed down, one hand disappearing from Nikki's view to clutch at his face. Suddenly, he threw back his head and howled, fairly screaming, unable to contain his mirth any longer. He laughed long and loud, crying and gasping and holding his middle with both arms in cheerful pain as he doubled over with the force of his merriment.

"Oh-ho-ho! Oh!" He sighed, turning back towards Nikki and wiping the lingering tears from his eyes with two deft fingers. "This is _too_ funny! The Listener of the Dark Brotherhood is afraid of death! Death Incarnate fears itself!"

"As any sane person would!" she spat back, feeling defensive and childish as the older man taunted her. His mild cruelty was a slap to the face for her, an insult she felt she almost couldn't bear. His sneering arrogance, his snide remarks, twisted plays for power, reinforcement of his dominance, yes, these things could handle…but his laughter at her expense, his amusement by her very real and valid fear of death, of becoming some monster that deals in the dread currency…that went too far for the righteous hacker.

"But that's where you're wrong," he purred. "_We_ do not fear death; it is merely our rebirth, to serve Lord Sithis in the Void, along with every other soul the Brotherhood sends into the abyss." His eyes were lit with a manic light, his body filled with a deathly still energy which seemed to animate the air around him rather than he himself. He spoke passionately, voice low and reverent: It was spellbinding. Nicole was as enthralled now, listening to words she would never in her life have agreed with, as she had been hours before, dazed and enchanted by all that was happening. "It is an honor to die horribly in service to the Night Mother. You should rejoice to be offered such an honor."

His tone had switched back to a condescending sneer, yanking Nikki from her trance with a violent jolt of disgust. She just could not _stand_ this holier-than-thou view of life this pompous roach pushed upon her.

"You're cracked!" She stormed furiously towards him, her anger getting the better of her, and pushed her face into his. "What the hell makes you think that's okay? Murdering people, tearing families apart, all in the name of some half-assed deity of death! And being happy about your own damn death! Why should _I_ be happy to die for a fucking corpse?!"

He snatched her wrists, face contorting into a horrible mask of pure rage. He pulled her close, shaking her a little, squeezing her captured limbs with a nearly unbearable force, an incalculable strength pulled from what must have been the very depths of his soul.

"Watch yourself, my _sweet_ Listener," he hissed. "Even you are not above punishment for breaking the Tenets." It felt like he was going to snap her wrists; the force was too great, and the glint in his eyes told of the malicious glee he took in her pain. She had to distract him, anything to stop the pain.

"Teh-Tenets?" He blinked once, somewhat surprised by the pained gasp of a question. He relaxed his hold, no longer a forceful show of dominance, but now rather a light, loving caress. He kept his hold on her, a grounding contact with solid reality and implications, but no longer hurt her.

"Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Sister. Never kill a Dark Brother or Sister. Never disobey or refuse a command from a superior. Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. And above all," he puts his lips close to her ear, breathing the words so they tickled her intimately and would remain with her always, "never dishonor the Night Mother. To break these Tenets is to invoke the wrath of the Dread Father." He pulled back, face indifferent, amber gaze lazily taking in her face. "Are we understood?"

"Yes." Her voice was little more than a whisper. This madman mystified and fascinated her in dangerous ways. He was alluring, a puzzle to be worked out, too tempting to step away from but too deadly to remain nearby.

His answering smile reminded her of the famed Cheshire Cat, another dangerously unstable notable in an equally mad world. "Good," he purred. His eyes flicked over her shoulder and his grin grew wider. "Alone at last."

The observation startled Nikki back into awareness. She was alone with this insane little man? How? Why? She frantically cast about, searching for the somewhat intermediary figure of Nazir, but he was nowhere to be found. She was really and truly alone with this odd, violent stranger.

_And_ he was still holding her by the wrists. This came crashing back in on her as he ran his thumbs over the sides of her wrists. It was an almost sensual caress. She froze up at the strange, uninvited—but somehow not entirely unwelcomed—sensation. Her body tensed and she refused to look back at him, too scared to dare a glance and too shamefully turned on to step away.

He hummed to himself, a single, tuneless note as he continued to roll his thumbs over her wrists, She could feel his eyes on her, memorizing every minute detail, trying to look past the clingy dress, through it and even through her flesh to peer into the soul. All in all, it was the most unnvering experience she had ever had in her long years of life.

"That dress really does suit you. Nazir chose well." Nikki could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise to attention, but still she refused to look at him. "Pity."

The next thing she knew, Nikki's bare feet had lost contact with the ground. She gasped, and was suspended in the air for a marvelous, breathless moment. It was clear in the split-second what had happened: The bastard had flung her into the pool. His face was triumphant, shining with merriment and victory, his hands still held out before him after having thrown her backwards into the warm water. Then her backside made contact with the lapping pool, driving the wind from her. It was a good damn thing she loved being near the water so much. She had learned how to swim at a young age, and the knowledge was now being put to good use. The fabric of her dress grew heavy as it absorbed the water, and would have drug a weaker swimmer down into an early grave. He could have drowned her, the crazy son of a bitch!

She came up spluttering and gasping for breath, pushing her wet bangs out of her eyes and trying not to entangle her legs in the floating fabric surrounding her. She glared up at him hatefully as he chuckled to himself, primly readjusting his clothes.

"You stupid mother-fucker!"

"Mmm, that's rather close to breaking a Tenet, don't you think?"

"I could have drowned! Isn't that one of your precious Tenets, too?"

He flipped his hand nonchalantly. "I would have saved you." He drank in the sight of her slowly, silently, as she pulled herself out of the pool. "Besides, the dress is the only thing to have really suffered."

She glared evilly up at the vile man. "It's so good to know you care." Sarcasm dripped from every syllable.

He smirked, but bent over and offered her his hand. "Oh, but I do, my Listener." He grasped her hand tightly, amber gaze boring intently into her hazel eyes. Nikki halted in her upward progression. What was it about that man's gaze that captivated her so? He leaned closer, and in a moment of shocking instant clarity, Nikki was absolutely sure he was going to kiss her. The thought wasn't exactly horrifying; quite the opposite, in fact. That moment served only to heighten her surprise when, with his other hand, he pushed her back into the waiting water.

"You—"

"It's a pity to ruin such a lovely dress, but a lesson needed to be learned. I'm sure we have other clothes in your size."

She could only stare at him in utter shock as he strode out of the room. He truly was like the infamous Cheschire Cate—if he had a tail, it would have been twitching happily behind him as he made his dramatic exit on that line.

This was _not_ her night.

_-Notes-_

_Well, this took longer than I thought. I apologize for the inconvenience, everyone: First I got a little blocked in towards the end, and then I had a very rough week. But everything is written and uploaded now, and we can all go back to loving each other, right? :) I certainly hope so!  
As always, I really hope to hear back from everyone. R&R! Send me PMs! I publish to better myself; how can I possibly do that without a critique of some kind? :)  
__Ciao for now~!  
__Write well, and often,  
~BritLuvr~_


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